Godforsaken Games
by Oh My Freakin' Freakin
Summary: A good story, but a bad fanfiction. I explain it in the A/N. This story features Kristoph as an assassin, and also a WHOLE NEW OC, Courtney Meurtrier. She's an assassin too. In the meantime, read this chapter. It's pretty interesting. T for language.


**A/N: This story has next to nothing to do with the Ace Attorney series. *nervous laugh* Cuz, um, it's set in the seven years between Phoenix losing his badge and Apollo getting his, and that is like the one time in the game's chronology that does not have something happening in it, so I just had a totally blank slate game-wise to go off of, and, well, I went off of it. And also it has nothing to do with anything to do with court. Really, the only link to it and the games is one character, Kristoph. Who, although I tried very hard, is probably out-of-character. And also I *ahem* _re-imagined_ his background. So, um, yeah, this has absolutely nothing to do with the series. Sob. In fact, I'm probably going to change the one character's name and description and put this on Fiction Press, because without the name and description of that one character, this bears absolutely no similarities to the Ace Attorney series at all. Sob. The first chapter will probably be the only chapter I post on this site, and after that, I'll just have to change Kristoph's name and physical description and I'll move on to Fiction Press. Sorry. I was thinking about doing that now and not posting anything to this site at all, but since I've already updated my profile to mention the story, I can't back out now. So, you'll get one chappie. Compromise.**

Courtney Meurtrier swung her bag unto the ground at the foot of her chair as she sat down. She was dressed, very simply in a crisp, dark charcoal-gray blouse, with diagonal maroon stripes that V'ed downward to the center of the blouse, where it was closed with modest ebony buttons. In contrast to the business-like look of her shirt, she had chosen simple charcoal-gray skinny jeans to complete her outfit. She wore no jewels; the closest thing to adornment she wore was a plain, unembelished strip of black leather fastened around her right wrist, less than a centimeter in width. It had a small silver buckle, but that was as far as she would go for jewelry. Her outfit was, all-in-all, far from eye-catching, but still strangely attractive on her if you ever took the time to look at it. She had the sort of quiet style that you never noticed until you really looked, but once you saw it, it was unmistakable. She always looked at ease, no matter what surrounding she was in, which was, in this case, a seedy establishment known for poker. However, a trained eye- and the eye of the man she was meeting here was very trained -would be able to spot the signs that she never truly relaxed. Her path of occupation had many benefits, most, but not all, of them monetary. The possibility of relaxation, even for a second, was not among them. And as for the signs, for one, she had just, oh-so-casually, placed her bag in the perfect position for her to grab by the (unquestionably reinforced) handle and weaponize at a moment's notice. Doubtless, she had put some sort of weight into the sleek leather purse, probably going so far as to stitch it unnoticeably into the lining in the place that would provide the greatest momentum by leverage when swung. People thought skill with a needle and thread didn't come in use for someone in her line of work. They were wrong. Courtney folded her hands on the stained poker table before her, and looked at her business associate.

"Hello, Kristoph," she said coolly. "How are you tonight?"

They played cards. They always played cards. You had to play cards if you wanted to get anything out of Kristoph. It wasn't that he opened up afterwards, or something moronic like that; no, people in their profession never truly opened up. No, the reason you had to play cards was that, well, with Kristoph, you just had to play cards. For meetings like these, he wouldn't say a word until at least the third hand. It was one of the many little things about Kristoph. Little rituals you had to observe, little games you had to play, little rules you had to play by that he didn't tell anyone about. But if you played the game right, then he would start to talk, although not very much. Then a whole new level of games would come into play, games with words, and rules. _More_ rules. Courtney _hated _rules. But, she knew when to play by them, and this was one of those times. So, they played cards, as always. Poker. She'd like to say she let him win, but she knew he would win anyway, so she went all out. If he didn't like the amount of competition you gave, or if he sensed you were holding back, then he wouldn't say anything, and your life might suddenly and mysteriously become a lot shorter. It was another of Kristoph's many infuriating little rules. He drove her insane, him and his rules. She supposed his obsessive adhesion to laws probably had to do with his _other _profession, as a lawyer. Hah. You'd think if rules and laws mattered to the godforsaken man so much, he wouldn't go and become a godforsaken assassin in the first place, now would he? But, he had anyway, and now that meant that she, Courtney, had to deal with him and his godforsaken _rules_. Rules...

She remembered why she was there, and turned her focus back to the game, uneasy. He was beating her, as always. Part of it was the game. She hated poker. It went so godforsaken _slowly_. Egyptian Rat Screw, now, _that _was a game of cards. She was a champion at it. As far as she was concerned, you couldn't beat Egyptian Rat Screw, and as far as Egyptian Rat Screw was concerned, you couldn't beat Courtney Meurtrier. _No _one could. Another part of the reason she never won to him was that she just wasn't comfortable when she wasn't playing for keeps. It sounded odd, but she knew it was true. Kristoph never played poker for keeps. He said that true champions only played for the thrill of the game, or something moronic like that. Courtney didn't find it very thrilling when there was nothing to lose. It made her feel like she was out of her element. Kristoph, on the other hand, was perfectly comfortable in his lame zero-stakes game of cards. Comfortable to the point of complacency. As Courtney knew, relaxation was not something you could afford in their jobs. One of these days, Kristoph would let his guard down and that would be that. Today, though, was not that day. Kristoph Gavin was not yet ready for his downfall, but when he was, Courtney would be first in line. She could wait for a while. She hated waiting, but she was good at it nonetheless. Even now, she was waiting, waiting for this godforsaken game of poker to reach the point where Kristoph would condescend to speak to the lowly Courtney Meurtrier. Gah, she _hated_ how he thought he was so much better than her. Because, apparently, she was just a lowly city killer, while he was Kristoph godforsaken Gavin, the world's first- and, if Courtney could have any say in the matter, last - lawyer/assassin. But it didn't matter. Even lowly city killers got paid. So she just waited, and played the game for what felt like five hours.

"Courtney." Kristoph said at last, without looking up from his hand. _Oh, treats._ Courtney thought, mentally rolling her eyes while giving no outside expression. _His Majesty deigns to speak. _"You wished to speak to me?" he continued.

_Yes, I freaking wished to speak to you, _she wanted to scream. _Why else would I want to sit here and play poker with you for five freaking hours? The charming company? Or the thrill of the game? _But, again, her face betrayed nothing. "Yes." She responded aloud.

He looked up from his cards, causing the light from the candle placed artistically in a Chianti bottle on the upturned crate beside the poker table to glint off his glasses, seeming to obscure his eyes between twin walls of flame. The sight might have sent chills down someone else's spine, but Courtney wasn't impressed. She was willing to bet he'd even ordered the lenses made with a special reflective coating just to look imposing. Hah. He always did like cheap tricks. "About what?" He asked from behind his freakish little mirror-glasses.

She didn't respond at first, just looked blankly at his invisible eyes. She shoved in some of her chips. "This and that." She told him airily, dancing around what really brought her there. She knew she couldn't avoid it forever. That wasn't what she was here for, anyway. She was here to talk about it.

Kristoph raised an eyebrow at her shoving in the chips. He started to smirk a little. Courtney _hated _it when he smirked like that. "Specifically?" He queried.

"Jobs." Courtney said bluntly, leaning one elbow on the greasy poker table. "She offered to pay you to do him in, didn't she?"

"Maybe." Kristoph said. "Lots of people offer to pay me to do in lots of other people. It's part of the job. Who are 'she' and 'him'?"

"Yvonne. Yvonne Hoffman." Courtney flicked her autumn-brunette hair over her shoulder.

"And 'him'?" Kristoph's glasses glinted again as he looked dispassionately at her.

"You know who I'm talking about, Mr. Gavin." She told him coldly. "Now tell me. Did she come to you or not?"

Silence. Kristoph smirked at her across the poker table. She flicked in more chips, and he talked. "What would you do if I said yes?"

"I would ask you if you'd accepted." She stated, boring a hole in his skull with her eyes.

"And then if I said, 'what would you do if I said yes?'" Kristoph smiled at her. He positively just loved to do this to her. Playing his little godforsaken games, seeing how far he could push her before she snapped. But she never snapped; she never showed any annoyance. No matter how unbelievably p.o.-ed she was beneath the surface, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose her cool. So, instead of snapping, she pushed back harder. It was another game, almost like a game of chicken. The first one to turn aside would be the loser. So, instead of replying, she shoved in more chips. His smirk grew wider as he watched this, but she knew what she was doing. Maybe it wasn't a smart move in poker- but poker wasn't the only game being played at that musty poker table in that basement. Sometimes you had to lose one game to win another, and Courtney knew what was important, and she was ready to stake it all on herself. Because, if it all went down in flames, there would still be herself, if the world turned on itself, she could still trust herself, and if everything else failed her, she would still have herself. She was her own weapon of last resort.

She'd the right move. Kristoph started talking before she even got her hands off the chips.

"Honestly, Courtney," he sighed, shaking his head tragically at her obvious ignorance. "Would I ever turn down a job?"

Her muscles clenched. "You took the job, didn't you." It was not a question, or even an accusation. It was a statement.

"Maybe, maybe not." He toyed with his hand of cards, still smiling slightly.

"I'm sick of your games, Kristoph. I know you took the job. Just tell me when." She rolled her knuckles under the table, never taking her eyes off Kristoph. She wanted to throw him down so bad, but she knew she had to contain herself.

"Why do you care, Courtney?" His voice was soft, his smirk ever wider.

"Just tell me _when_." She repeated, as if she hadn't heard him. He returned the favor.

"I mean, what's the point of caring? The man's dying anyway. By his own estimate, he has less than nine months to live. Pretty accurate estimate too, I'd say, if we're talking about... _unaided _death." He inspected his (manicured) nails.

"Tell me _when_, Kristoph; I'm getting impatient."

"So why do you care if I speed him on his way a little? What is so important to you about this man?" Kristoph continued their overlapping monologues.

"Kristoph." Courtney rubbed her fingers on one hand together nervously. Kristoph was starting to hit close.

"Or..." his smile widened yet further. "...did I miss something? Has something changed, Courtney? Something that would make you want to save the life of a dying man?"

"You don't need to know, Kristoph." Courtney said, dropping the pretext of ignoring him. "It's my life, and we were just business partners, once." _And I quit, because you scared me. _She added mentally. It was true. They were both killers, but Kristoph took it to a whole new level. You got the feeling he would turn on anyone, for anything...

"Courtney, Courtney, Courtney." He was shaking his head at her again. She _hated _it when he did that. "I thought you were more _professional_ than this."

She glowered at him. She resisted the urge to scream "BITCH YOU DON"T KNOW MY LIFE," although it was very tempting. He continued.

"So, tell me." He smirked his infuriating smirk at her. "Did you really go back on seven years' training just like that? Can you really have any feelings for a civilian?"

"Listen, Kristoph, how I feel about him is my business-"

"No, it's not your business. It's as far from your business as you can possibly go. Your business is an assassin. Don't forget that, Courtney. Never forget who you are." Kristoph glared at her. She hated it when he glared like that, but he was right.

"Just... please. It doesn't matter how I feel, okay? Just don't kill him. He hasn't done anything wrong!" She pleaded with him. She _hated _having to plead to others. She resisted the temptation to end it now. To pull the knife out from the band around her ankle and plunge it into his heart. It would make everything so much simpler... but she resisted.

"Neither did most of _your _targets. Did that stop _you_?" Kristoph smiled knowingly at her. Knowing smiles made Courtney's List of Things I Hate at spot 37.

"Kristoph... humor me. For old times' sake." It was lame, she knew it. Playing the old-times'-sake card was probably the lamest thing she'd ever done. But, she'd already pleaded, so she might as well swallow her pride further and just grind salt in the wound. Yay.

"Old times' sake? Old times' sake? Really, Courtney? First you say we were just business partners, now you want me to spare a man's life for _old times' sake?_" Kristoph arched his eyebrows. Well. That stung. But then again, what did she expect for rubbing salt in a wound? Fucking salt. Courtney hated salt. It was so fucking salty. And stuff. Anyway... Kristoph was talking again. "We're assassins, Courtney. We don't do 'old times' sake'. We don't do loyalty."

"Kristoph..." Courtney started. She wasn't sure how to finish. Normally, she would go with "... fuck you," but this was Kristoph. You never knew what would send him over the edge. One second, he'd look like the essence of calm, the next, well, you wouldn't know what he looked like, because you'd be dead. So, Courtney didn't finish that sentence. Kristoph talked over her silence.

"Just tell me one thing, Courtney." He looked coldly into her eyes. "Does he know you exist?"

Her heart nearly stopped. She closed her eyes, slowly. It made it easier to say it. "...No." She said quietly. "No."

"Good." Kristoph said crisply. "Nor should he. You are, after all, an assassin."

She looked up and into his uncaring eyes. She took a deep breath. "...I'm quitting."

Silence. Courtney fancied she could hear a beat.

Kristoph looked up. "What?"

"I'm quitting." She repeated, reaching for her bag. She didn't like the look in Kristoph's eyes...

Kristoph looked down at his hand of cards. When he looked up, his face was a perfect mask of calm. "No." He said simply.

Courtney felt the bag slip from her grasp. "What?"

"No." Kristoph repeated. Murderous rage twisted his face. "No. You. Aren't." He grabbed the bottle with the candle in it and swung it at her head with unbelievable speed. Courtney tried to block it, to dodge, to do anything, but she was rooted in place. As the heavy glass connected with her temple, her last thought was, _Who let their guard down now? _

And then... blackness.


End file.
